


This is home

by everyfandomoftherainbow



Category: Fargo - Fandom, Mr Numbers - Fandom, Mr Wrench - Fandom, Wrenchers - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:07:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyfandomoftherainbow/pseuds/everyfandomoftherainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young Wrench and Numbers, before their Fargo days, have one hell of a night when they are mixed up in client's, and their own business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is home

The sun was setting on a field of golden wheat stalks. The fields stretched as far as the eye could see with a dim sun lowering on the horizon. The air was dry and humid. Wrench sat in his chair on the porch, watching the boy and their dog play in the field out front of their broken down old house. In his hand, he held an old and faded picture. It was cracked around the edges, and the color was fading, but his face was still there. Numbers’ face was still there. It was one of the few pictures Wrench ever kept where he was smiling. Big and bright, you could tell how happy he had been. The grin stretched ear to ear on Numbers’ face and the sun was shining bright. Wrench was standing next to him, smiling at the camera with his arm wrapped around his partner’s shoulder, and his other arm was wrapped tight in a bandage, as was Numbers’ leg. They looked like shit, tired and beat up, but they looked happy too. Though he was old and gray now, his thoughts were not what they used to be, he had time to reflect on his long life, with what was left of it. The wind blew the picture in Wrench’s hand, but he held onto it tightly. He clung to it like he grasped his memory- remembering before, so long ago, when Numbers was there with him.

September, 1996

It was the midst of their romancing phase, the pair of scheming murderers was young and did nothing but earn money on a wild rampage of what they called life. The nights were long and days came and went like the seasons. The hitmen were laying on the rooftop, Numbers clutching the trigger of a sniper rifle, aiming at some poor sucker who thought it’d be okay to screw over one of his clients. Numbers had a particular grudge against this fellow, because he was a cheating and lying gambler who stole their money earlier in the week at a poker game. As soon as their target exited his empty store for the night, locking it up, Numbers squeezed the trigger and one clean shot went through the man’s head on the street. There was a small echo, but the silencer on the gun stopped any loud noises from ringing into the night. As he fell to the ground, Numbers sighed and set down the gun, standing up and stretching his legs. “I can’t believe we waited half an hour for that guy.” He signed to Wrench, who was stretching his arms. “You’re the one who insisted we do it.” He rolled his eyes in return, annoyed but also chuckling at Numbers’ regret to his own decisions. Numbers shook his head and pulled out a cigarette, sticking it in his mouth as he tried to ignite the lighter. The wind blew against the flame, and after a couple tries he realized it was no use. Wrench smirked and grabbed the lighter from Numbers, igniting it in between Numbers’ cupped hands, as smoke ran out from the little tobacco stick. “I wish you’d stop smoking.” Wrench signed simply, stuffing the lighter into his pocket. “I told you, I cut back.” Numbers signed, blowing smoke in Wrench’s face. The fall nights were getting colder, and the cool breeze blasted Numbers’ face and Wrench’s back. Numbers turned up his coat collar to the wind, taking another long drag off his cigarette. Wrench stared at him, and couldn’t help but notice how unbelievably attractive Numbers’ smoking was. Young and free, grumpy and sleep deprived, but excited for all the open doors and wonders in life he had seen with Numbers.

He knew Numbers needed to stop smoking, but how could he tell him that when Numbers pulled it off so damn well? With the smoke, Numbers’ Mustache, and strange looking sideburns, he fit in well with a tough crowd. Wrench, on the other hand, was younger and he looked it- he was unable to grow facial hair and Numbers would constantly make fun of him for it. Either way, they liked each other enough to punch or kiss the other one. With the moon as their only light, they exited the rooftop carefully and undetected.

Back then, in the early years, Wrench and Numbers found it was harder to find a place to sleep in the dingy urban settings. They parked outside the city that night, because there wasn’t enough money in their pockets to pay for even the cheapest motel. Numbers argued there was enough money for a drink though, buying a bottle of whiskey on their way out of town. It was late and they were exhausted. After downing half of the bottle and talking over the day’s events in the car, Numbers’ eyes were struggling to stay open. The clocked blinked around 3:00am in the morning. The crickets chirped quietly outside the car. Both their faces were red and puffy, they laughed for no reason at each other’s comments, wiping the tears from their tired eyes.

“They need to pay us more, you know.” Numbers signed, with a sudden angry expression. Wrench let out a winded sigh, resting his head on the back seat. Almost every time Numbers drank he found a reason to be angry. There was no way around it; he would muddle up something of a mess. It resulted in endless bickering matches and eventually fights.

“Of course they should. But they don’t.” Wrench signed back, taking another swing off the bottle. “Don’t sigh like that. You know it’s true. Look at us, we’re living out of a car. This isn’t a home or a place to sleep,” Numbers snapped at Wrench, fumbling over his sign language in his groggy state. Wrench nodded, thinking about what to say next. If he wasn’t careful Numbers wouldn’t talk to him for a week. “This is home, Numbers.” Wrench tried to smile, eyes getting heavy from the day’s events. Fortunately, it seemed to do the trick. Numbers just raised his eyebrows in protest then settled down in the back seat next to wrench, resting his head on Wrench’s shoulder. That was where they stayed until the sun came up and began to set again.

The next afternoon they drove back in town and stopped at a small gas station. Wrench went inside to pay for the gas, which he did by pointing to the number their car was at and handing over the crumpled up cash. He didn’t like paying for anything; it was too much of a hassle to get the other person to understand exactly what Wrench needed. It was normally something Numbers took care of, but instead Numbers went to the payphone and didn’t tell Wrench who he was calling. After Wrench emerged from the store he walked around the building to find his partner hanging up the payphone.

“Who was that?” Wrench frowned signing to Numbers, handing him the receipt. Numbers smiled brightly at Wrench, signing in return, “Guess who just got us a raise?” He nudged Wrench in the stomach with his elbow, doing a little celebration gesture on the sidewalk. “No more crappy hotel rooms or sleeping out of our car, we hit the big bucks now, babe.” The blood slowly drained from Wrench’s face. “What do you mean raise? You know our boss doesn’t do raises, Numbers. We’re new.” His sudden angry tone and expression made Numbers sneer, “Why can’t you just be happy we have more money. Don’t complain.” He signed to Wrench, slightly pushing him out of the way to walk back to their car. Wrench followed after him, trying to get in front of Numbers so he could sign. However Numbers was in the car’s driver seat before Wrench could sign anything. He threw his hands up in front of the car in disapproval, and then muddled into the passenger seat, admitting his defeat in the conversation. As Wrench was taking his seat, Numbers flipped through what money they had left. Not much. He angrily pushed the bills between his fingers, and then let go of the money, signing to Wrench, “Why can’t you just be happy that we’re going to get more money? This is a good thing.” Wrench looked out the window, not replying to Numbers. He thought Numbers was being reckless, asking for a raise like that out of the blue. “Oh, so you’re going to ignore me now?” Numbers signed, making sure Wrench could see his hands. Wrench bit his lip and shook his head. Anything he said to Numbers at this point would result in some outrageous argument, where they would both be unhappy. “Yes. I’m happy. Thank you.” Wrench signed back, not meaning his words. Numbers turned on the engine, and drove out of the gas station and on to their next job. He wasn’t content with the way the conversation had ended, but left it as it was.

They stopped behind a tall dark building, which homed drug addicts, dirty thieves, and prostitutes. It was a dark day, the sun not shining much, and the boys hid behind the corner of the brick building and watched their subject closely. He was leaving a shitty apartment from the back exit, zipping up his pants and winking at the prostitute. She rolled her eyes and went back inside to count his money. Wrench tapped Numbers on the shoulder, signing quickly, “Isn’t this guy married?” Numbers nodded and turned back to their job, almost cutting Wrench off. Wrench tried not to get angry, but followed Numbers’ lead as he walked out from their hiding place to confront Mr. Idiot, who Numbers had referred to before.

“Hello sir, how are you? It’s Jordan right? Jordan slut bag?” Numbers said with ease, joy crossing over his eyes as the man turned against him, saying “What the fuc-“ And raising a fist aimed at Numbers. Mr. Idiot threw his punch, but Numbers stepped out of the way, and Wrench shoved the man before the punch even hit him. Jordan fell to the ground, realizing he was out numbered and not in a good position. Numbers smiled scandalously, as Wrench shook his head and knocked the idiot’s lights out. The sun neared the ground as the two men drove around to the place they wanted to bury the man. Since there was no icy water, the next best place was a forest or an abandoned graveyard. They had picked one out- or Wrench had, and it turned out it wasn’t abandoned and they pulled into the graveyard right at the setting of a funeral.

“Seriously, Wrench? You said no one would be here! What don’t you get about ‘abandoned’?” Numbers displayed his anger with his hands shaking all about. Where would they hide the body now? Wrench shrugged as the stirring of their dispute started once again. “It looked like there was no one here last night, alright? Stop chewing my head off about this.” Numbers laughed sinisterly, a sarcastic dry laugh, and he didn’t care if Wrench saw him or not.“You were supposed to take care of this, we were supposed to have a place to put the body, and instead we’re looking at a bunch of sad old people.” He signed, throwing his hands down in protest and then turning the engine on again. It took all of Wrench’s patience not to scream at Numbers at this point, but he took a deep breath and looked out the window. Numbers said something else to conclude, but Wrench didn’t look or reply. The forest leaves crunched beneath their feet as they made their way deep into the forest. It was around midnight and they kept a careful eye for wolves or any other animals. They walked straight back, so they could walk straight out. Wrench carried Jordan over his shoulder. He wasn’t a very light man, which left Wrench struggling to stand straight under the added weight. Numbers carried the shovels, his breath like steam as he huffed into the night air. It was only fall, but it was unmistakably cold out. Numbers stopped in front of Wrench and threw the shovels down, but Wrench was looking off to the right. He ran smack into Numbers, causing Jordan’s foot to accidentally kick Numbers in the face, knocking him off balance.

“Stop! Christ, Wrench!” He yelled at nothing in the silent forest. Wrench backed up, signing ‘Sorry’ but not meaning it in any particular way. Numbers held a hand up to his forehead, which on the right side was already forming a welt. He shook his head furiously, grabbing a shovel and kicking it into the ground. Without saying anything else, the boys started to pile dirt on the side of what would be Mr. Idiot’s grave. As they went digging through the night, Mr. Idiot was making a return into the real world. He started to struggle through his ties on bound to his hands, shaking all about on the earthy floor, and grunting under the duck tape. Numbers nudged his head in the direction of Jordan, which Wrench followed to take care of. On his way over to the man, he was asking himself questions like, how did they end up like this? Why were they fighting? Why was Numbers such a dick? He felt the simmer of rage teeter on the edge of his mind as he bent down to grab the man and drag him to his death. However, it had seemed that Jordan was able to get out of his bindings, and as soon as Wrench bent close enough, the Idiot threw a hard punch flying at Wrench’s face. It knocked him clean over, and took him by surprise, which gave Jordan enough time to get up in all his huffing and puffing and try to run away. Though Wrench was delirious on the ground, he focused on the moonlight until he could see straight again, and sat upright holding his head in his hand. Of course, by that time Numbers had taken a leap straight on top of Jordan, and was holding him on the ground, shouting something in his face. Wrench sat on the forest ground, watching the whole scene play out.

Numbers took out his gun, muttered something to the man, and a spray of blood went into the dark night wind. Numbers lugged the man over his shoulder, falling almost completely over from the weight, but he managed to carry him to the grave and chuck him into the shallow hole. He was pissed. This was something they both knew at this point in the evening. Wrench stood up, took a deep breath, knowing he was in for it now. Numbers took out a cigarette, lit it quickly and took two lingering drags. Wrench could make out his outline, his hair, and the way his face lit up orange every time he inhaled on the small white stick of tobacco. Not a word was said between the two, just the howl of the wind and their breaths. The man lay in his grave, still and silent, gone forever more. After a couple more puffs, Numbers threw down the cigarette, and didn’t bother to put it out. As the hair on Wrench’s neck stood ten feet tall, Numbers yelled something incomprehensible and tackled him onto the ground.

He quickly pinned down the bigger man’s arms, throwing a punch or two at his face. Although Wrench couldn’t hear as Numbers beat the shit out of him, he was yelling things like “Why can’t you be happy for us! You fucking asshole! You screwed it all up! They’ll find the body, we’ll go to jail, and it doesn’t even matter, because we don’t even have a home!” He threw one more punch that landed right in Wrench’s mouth, knocking out the fourth tooth back. The pain awoke Wrench, his hand snapped up from under Numbers’ knee, allowing him enough movement to stop the fists flying and change the situation. He pushed Numbers back onto the ground and, now on top, Wrench managed to knock Numbers clean out. Number's head went back, eyes shut and he lay on the ground unconscious. After all the fights they had gone through, all the times they battled and argued, they knew how it played out. They both knew their strengths, their weaknesses, and how to get the other one to stop. Wrench sat on top of Numbers for a moment, catching his breath and wiping the blood out of his eyes for a moment before getting up, and throwing Numbers over his shoulder, the same way he seemed to carry everyone. After noting this, he pulled Numbers forward, and carried him in the bridal position.

He was tired and they were both dirty. Wrench made his way back to the car, watching Numbers’ head bounce up and down in his arms. It looked like he was sleeping, but the black eye told a different story. He laid Numbers down in the back seat and started their old car up. It rattled as he started it, and he turned on the heat, blowing into his hands for warmth. But blowing hurt, and he tried touching the place where his tooth was now missing, and hissed with pain and anger. There was no way he could go back and get the tooth now, and it would remain in the forest for god knows how long. It was part of him though, and if the body was found, his tooth could be too. However, he left it and drove off into the night, keeping his eyes on the road and trying not to fall asleep. An hour later, on the road, Wrench gasped at the sight of his partner’s startling hands. He flinched away from them, sine he didn’t expect Numbers to be awake yet.

Numbers just made the sign, “Bar,” and Wrench nodded. There would be no arguing on that. As Wrench pulled into the dingy late night bar’s driveway, rain started to fall from the night sky. Wrench watched it fall under the yellow streetlight, thinking about how he would have to apologize to Numbers about what happened. Numbers got out of the car, one hand on his head, the other on the car as he made his way to the entrance using the car as railing. Wrench had hit him in the head pretty damn hard, and imagined Numbers’ groaning and bitching about it for the days to come. He sighed and got out of the car as well. As he was walking into the bar beside Numbers he looked at all the usual neon lights and beer signs. It looked like a sports bar, but in these late night hours there were only 4 or 5 other people there. They took seats up front, Numbers looked at Wrench with an exhausted expression; he didn’t say anything about what happened. He ordered Wrench’s usual drink for him, and Wrench nodded in response. Their stillness continued for seconds, but then it came to an awkward standpoint and Wrench had to say something.

“How bad does it hurt?” He signed to Numbers, pointing at the black eye that swelled on his face. “It reminds me of you because it’s like a bitch. It hurts like a bitch, Wrench.” Numbers signed back, this time not laughing at his own joke. Guilt crossed Wrench’s eyes and he started to sign, “I’m sorry,” but before he could, Numbers gave a small smile, putting a hand on Wrench’s shoulder and shaking his head. “Don’t,” He signed back, knowing he was aggravating and made the first move to punch Wrench. Wrench nodded. He was looking down at his drink, wishing none of it had happened. If he had just found the right gravesite it wouldn’t have happened in the first place, then Numbers’ wouldn’t be hurt. A song played in the distance, which Numbers couldn’t recall the name of. He shook off the strange feeling of the night, drinking quickly and soundlessly forgetting. Wrench took almost no notice when they came in. Two of them. One short. One tall. They were brutes with buzz cuts and evil looks in their eyes- much like the looks Wrench and Numbers shared. Numbers looked, but didn’t recognize them, though he should have. The two dark men made their way over to Wrench and Numbers. One with his hands in his pockets, a slung back look on his face, and a wicked smile.

“It’s Numbers,” the shorter one said with a smile. He paused for a moment, as Numbers looked him up and down. “Right?” he finished with a delay, looking at the pair of them and almost laughing. Wrench gave them all a confused look, and took another drink, knowing this was headed nowhere good. “What the fuck do you want?” Numbers said outright, getting to his feet, and eyeing Wrench to do the same. “You’ve been listed, my friends,” the short one said, hands still in his pockets. “Listed for what?” Numbers hissed back, gripping his drink with a gritty look in his eyes. This guy’s attitude was pissing him off. Wrench snapped and signed to Numbers quickly, “What’s happening?” But Numbers didn’t reply, he just looked back at their new friends. He paused, giving the room an eerie silence, as the others in the bar picked up to the rising level of anger.

“I’m afraid,” he said, taking his hands out of his pockets, shrugging to them and finishing- “You’ve both been listed, by our boss, to go to hell.” He dragged the last word out, snapping and spinning. Numbers heard and moved quick, pulling out his gun as actions started to take place. The other man though, who hadn’t said anything took out his gun before Numbers- and started to fire shots. Since all four of them were in such a close proximity, Wrench and Numbers were both able to see it coming. They ducked and laid on the ground as the shots fired. The other patrons of the bar screamed and ran out while the bartender took out a shot gun, though he obviously wasn’t the kind of man who could figure out how to fire it quickly enough, and the short man shot the bartender straight on. Wrench caught on quickly, and had his gun out before the man, taking cover under the table with Numbers, they both fired, and their opponents moved out of the way to opposite sides of the bar. “What the fuck?” Wrench signed quickly, asking Numbers who in the hell they were. Numbers shrugged, shaking off his panic before taking a couple shots at the table to which the shorter one was hiding behind. He yelled from behind the table,

“This isn’t going to end well boys and you know it! Might as well just leave now! You shouldn’t have asked for that money, Mr. Numbers.” Numbers hissed under the table, muttering, “Fuck!” to himself. Wrench held out his hands, “What?” With a face that only wanted answers. Numbers put his finger to his lips making the “Shush” sign, and shaking his head. “Come out boys!” The man yelled again. Numbers looked at Wrench, devising a plan. “You shoot left, I shoot right. Watch each other’s backs?” he signed, fear and excitement in his eyes. Wrench nodded. Numbers held up a fist. One finger, two fingers, and then finally the third, they jerked out from under the bar table, bullets erupting from their guns in flame and fury, Numbers’ eyes narrowing as he shot the stupid short fucker. As soon as Wrench and Numbers stood to their full height, the short talkative guy shot Wrench straight into the shoulder.

Wrench yelled in pain and fell to his knees, but he kept his gun up and continued firing, but the tall dark black guy couldn’t be shot. He was behind the door of the bar, taking aim and missing Wrench as well. It was a stand off, the bar was ripped with bullets, wood, drinks, and glass splattering and shattering in ever direction. The short guy, who Numbers had been firing at, ran out of ammo. Numbers was quicker, and had another gun on him. As Wrench and the black guy continued to unload their guns on each other, Numbers ran up to the table the little one was hiding behind, firing until one finally landed in his chest.

“I just,” he said, firing another one in the man’s leg as he yelled out, “Needed,” Numbers continued, “More.” He fired again, this time hitting the guy’s chest, as the other hit man laid on the ground saying, ‘no, please don’t.’ “MONEY.” The last shot fired out of Numbers’ gun into the man’s head. Blood pooled on the floor close to Numbers shoes. Another shot rang out, splitting into Numbers’ leg. He fell face first on the ground, quickly flipping over on his back, pulling his gun and trying to aim for the tall one. Before he could land a shot, Wrench had already gotten him smack in his chest, ripping through the heart. They panted on the floor, Wrench fell over and leaned against the booth next to him, clutching his right shoulder as the blood leaked out of it. Numbers dropped his gun, and then let his head fall with a thud to the floor. He looked up at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath, wincing from the pain in his leg. After a few moments of pure shock, Numbers sat up with much effort, slipping his gun and anything else that he had him on him onto the bar. He looked at Wrench, who was huffing and puffing and groaning about his wound.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Numbers signed, rolling his eyes with whatever sarcasm he had left. Wrench smiled and signed, “Shut up, let’s get out of here.” Wrench stood up, catching his weak balance on the table and made his way over to Numbers. He grabbed Numbers’ arm with his good side, pulling his arm over his shoulder so they could lean on each other. With Numbers’ leg shot, he hobbled and put a hand on Wrench’s chest to stabilize himself. Like that, they walked all the way to their car, soaked in their own and some other’s blood. They got into their car; Wrench turned on the engine, keeping one arm across his chest to keep it up right, the other one on the wheel. They sat there, sucking in the cold air after the quite breathtaking night. The engine roared, the clock read 3am.

“We can’t go to a hospital. They’ll put us in handcuffs as soon as we get there.” Numbers signed, sighing. “Let’s go get what we need, and then to a motel for the night.” Wrench looked over, tired and in pain, “We don’t have the money, Numbers.” Numbers pulled out a wallet, neither of theirs. “I got it off the short bastard.” He signed, smiling. Wrench nodded laughing a little, pulling out of the bar and driving over the shattered glass and ripped wood. On their way to the store, sirens blared in the distance. There was a grand total of $500 in the asshole’s wallet, which was enough to buy a hook needle, thread, alcohol, bandages, plus burgers and fries. They laughed at the store employ’s expression, their bloodied jackets gave the guy a surprise. Numbers said on their way out, “Halloween party.” They found a decent looking motel, went inside and started to undress. Wrench was shirtless while Numbers was in his boxers. Numbers pointed to Wrench who was obviously in more pain, and signed, “You first.” Wrench shook his head angrily, pulling out towels and alcohol. “No,” he signed in return, sitting next to Numbers and setting his leg on his lap. He poured water and alcohol over Numbers’ leg, who hissed in response, yelling “Shit!” and grabbing the bed. It was a nasty wound and Wrench started to sew it shut before any more blood could spill. With each puncture Numbers grimaced, he held a sturdy hand on Wrench’s good shoulder for balance.

“How long do you think until I can walk straight again?” he said almost jokingly, as it wasn’t he first bullet wound in the leg. “I don’t think that’s the first time you’ve said that at 4am,” Wrench signed in response, laughing at his own smug joke. “Fuck you,” Number signed, looking at Wrench, trying not to think about the pain. That broke the long silence between them, and Numbers finally came to his senses. He snapped in front of Wrench’s focused eyes, bringing his head up to his. He leaned in, speaking in the quite room. He said it out loud, letting Wrench read his lips, “I’m sorry. I fucked up. Those bastards were from the boss, they came to kill us because I asked for more money.”

Wrench looked up, cocking his head as his smile faded. “You got hurt, and I’m sorry, that shouldn’t have happened.” He looked down at his own leg, thinking about the mess he had made for them. “I’m a greedy bitch, I guess,” he said, tired and weary. Wrench leaned in as well, scooting closer and dropping the needle and thread that were hooked through Numbers’ leg. He picked up Numbers’ head in his hands, kissing him hard on the lips, closing his eyes and knowing it was the only good thing he had felt all night. Numbers kissed him back, running a hand through his head. They let go of each other and their eyes locked. They were smiling, and truly meaning it for the first time in a while. “You look like a piece of shit,” Wrench signed, going back to sewing up Numbers’ leg wound. Numbers laughed, falling backwards onto the bed and yawning. “Don’t we all.” That night, Numbers cleaned Wrench’s shoulder, they covered themselves in bandages, and slept for 15 hours straight.

The sun blinded them through the shades the next morning. It was warm and quiet in the room. As soon as Wrench groaned and sat up, so did Numbers, their hair was messed up, and they were half naked, fumbling around. Numbers tried to stand up but fell down on the floor almost instantly, yelling curses as he tried to get back on the bed. Wrench turned around and laughed, watching him struggle for a couple seconds before helping him up. Wrench laughed as Numbers pushed him off the bed. Wrench fell and continued laughing from his spot on the floor. “Idiot,” Numbers signed. They left the motel to go get something for breakfast. Wrench had to help Numbers out of the door, who by this time couldn’t walk straight, indeed. When they got outside, Numbers slipped on his sunglasses and Wrench winced at the bright sun. A man walked by with his camera, big and bulky around his neck, he stopped in front of the two, looking at the interesting scene. He said, “Mind if I take a picture?” Numbers said, “Why not.” Wrench wrapped his arm around Numbers, smiling at the camera as if he had been waiting for this moment. Wrench quickly made the love sign to Numbers, and then dropped his hand. Numbers smiled from ear to ear, and Wrench knew he wouldn’t have unless he made the smile happen. The flash went off, and quickly the photo ejected from the bottom of the camera. The man handed the picture to Wrench, and said, “Thanks, see ya.” And went on his way past the motel. Wrench looked at the black photo as it had the slightest hint of becoming a picture. They got into the car, Numbers in the driver’s seat, running a hand through his thick uncombed hair. “You know, Wrench, I think this is home.” He signed lifting his head, looking at Wrench. Wrench nodded, not really understanding what Numbers meant. They pulled out, Numbers turned on the music, picking up to the beat, singing as they headed to the diner near by.

30 years later

Wrench waved to the boy, telling him to come in for the evening. He gazed at the picture one last time before heading in. The sun had almost set by then, Numbers’ face continued to gleam bright through the past. It was so long ago, before Fargo. Before he had left him. His boy ran into their home, the dog behind him. The boy was Wrench’s, he adopted him after Numbers had died, and retired from his old life, moving out west to the middle of nowhere. He wasn’t bothered there; nothing but his memories and haunting past remained. He shoved the old wrinkled photo in his pocket, chasing away the memories of Numbers and his past life. He watched the sun go down over the fields slowly, keeping his hand in his pocket holding tight onto the picture and his memory, shutting the old creaky door behind him, which slammed shut with dust flying in after him. Numbers was his home then, and this was his home now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap this took forever but it was so worth it- seereanawrap totally inspired a lot of it so thank god for her Don't-pester-lester aka my bff edited it for me ily dani, and I hope every ones likes it B) (sorry its so long?? jesus)


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